The impossible has become reality! A masked man possesses extraordinary powers, and he’s using those fantastic abilities to fight crime and pursue justice. Meanwhile, Miranda Thomas expects to fail at the only thing she ever wanted to do: become a famous star of the stage and screen. One night, Miranda encounters a woman who’s more than human. But this powerful woman is dying, fatally wounded by an unknown assailant. Miranda’s next decision propels her life in a new direction—and nothing can prepare her for how she, and the world, will change.

The elevator carriage settled, and
Miranda expected to find Officer Hoskins somewhere along the well-lit path,
ever vigilant as he stood guard over the park. But once the door opened, she
saw only a long, vacant stretch of brick surrounded by topiaries and
impenetrable darkness. The park did span several acres around the tower.
Perhaps something demanded Hoskins’s attention.

Miranda kept her phone in hand as she
began her brisk walk, reminding herself that this was one of the safer parts of
town. Still, her parents had issued many warnings about the dangers a city held
after dark, and her mind replayed the greatest hits. Miranda felt her ears
expanding to catch even the faintest rustling of leaves.

She heard something else. Not leaves
or wind or any scurrying critter. Nothing from nature. Nothing natural.

A moan. It was coming from somewhere
behind those bushes. Miranda’s senses all dialed up to maximum.

She decided to ignore it and stay on
the path, stay under the lights. Keep her eyes on her phone and check the hell
out of those text messages. Or pretend to while secretly poised to dial 9-1-1 if the need
arose—a need like someone leaping out and strangling her.

Whatever it was,
Officer Hoskins was probably already on it. That explained his absence. But what
if he was the one moaning?

“I’m hurt,” the
moaning person called out from the darkness, her voice hoarse.

It was definitely a
woman’s voice, not the policeman’s. And he wasn’t around to respond to the cry
for help.

This could have been
a trap—some creepy man lurking, sheathed in the dark, ready to throw the first
unsuspecting good citizen into a black van. And if not, well, really, what
could Miranda do to help? Aside from the simple task of dialing 9-1-1.

It would be the
right thing to do, in case someone was suffering. Miranda could make the
call and run away.

“Help. Please.”

Miranda wanted to
keep walking until she exited the park, but her feet refused to budge and she
cringed. She remained physically capable of forward momentum, just not mentally.

Her stomach folded
in on itself, threatening to incite debilitating queasiness unless she did the
right thing. If she walked away, she’d spend days or weeks dwelling on whatever
she walked away from, constantly checking the news for any hints about what the
hell this was. All food would lose its appeal, and she would look back on the
concept of sleep with nostalgic fondness.

She considered
running back up to Ken, but he was nearly half a mile above the ground. And
someone right here might be hurt.

Miranda dialed the
digits 9-1-1 and positioned her thumb over the “call” icon. Without hitting it
just yet, she advanced toward the source of the moaning and commanded herself
not to dissolve into a shivering mess of nerves. She did not heed herself. Her shaking
thumb almost jabbed “call” by accident.

Didn’t happen,
though. A flash of light cut through the park for just a second, and she
stopped. Where did it come from? Not the park’s lighting system. Was it …
Fantastic Man? Was she about to meet Fantastic Man? This seemed more like
something he should handle, not her.

“That was me,” the
woman said, each word scraping against Miranda’s ears. So scratchy and parched.
She wasn’t far, maybe only a few feet into the darkness. “Want to make sure I …
have your attention.”

Without stepping off
the path, Miranda dared to look between the bushes. A new source of light
flickered low to the ground, revealing a much older woman lying on the grass.
The light came from the strange electricity that was cascading over her unusual
outfit, which looked like a superhero costume—emerald tights with a scarlet
cape. A deep red symbol occupied the center of the chest, the silhouette of a
bird’s wing melding into a fierce, sharp beak. The costume lacked a mask,
though. But this woman had to be at least fifty, maybe sixty, and Miranda had
never seen her before. Surely if an older female superhero had emerged, she
would have dominated the news as much as Fantastic Man did, probably more so on
account of her unexpected demographic affiliation.

Or was she a
supervillain? Was this a trap? Was Miranda stupidly falling into a trap?

The woman was
clutching her side, pressing her hand against a dark liquid …

Blood. The super
electric woman was wounded to the point where she was bleeding all over the
grass. Miranda did not care to stick around to learn who did the wounding, nor
did she relish the idea of running away and unwittingly intercepting such a
person.

The woman reached
toward Miranda with her free hand, which glowed as bright as a standard light
bulb, no more intense than that. The electricity never sparked beyond her
elbow, so the hand appeared safe.

“Come here,” the
woman said. “Help me up. The pain … is too great.”

If she was actually in
pain. Miranda started to wonder. The injury seemed real, but the woman almost
looked like she was smirking. Miranda’s eyes were still adjusting to the aura
of electrical light, though, and she wanted any excuse to get the hell away
with a clear conscience.

Paranoia was not an
excuse to let someone suffer, so Miranda started to reach for that bright,
quivering hand. And paranoia froze her anyway, after only an inch of movement.

“Should I call an
ambulance or the police?” Miranda asked, continuing rapidly without pause, “And
who are you and where is that electricity coming from? Am I in danger just by
standing here? Are you going to kill me? Please don’t kill me.”

The woman chuckled through gritted
teeth, as if Miranda had told a joke. “Just grab my hand, dear.”

Daniel Sherrier is a writer based in central Virginia. He is the author of the novel “The Flying Woman.” A College of William & Mary graduate, he has worked for community newspapers, written a few plays that have been performed, and earned his black belt in Thai kickboxing. And there was that one time he jumped out of an airplane, which was memorable.

I’ve read superhero comics since I was nine years old, and
I’ve always wanted to make my own contribution to the genre.

My first serious attempt at a superhero story was actually a
play I wrote in college, called Super!, which was eventually performed
in a small Chicago theater in 2008. That story focused on the secret identities
behind the cartoonish superhero facades, and it was partially inspired by watching
old Superfriends cartoons full of stalwart superheroes tackling
ridiculous threats, without any personal problems. What if this surface-level
perfection was just their professional demeanor, but they were struggling with
personal issues in the backs of their minds?

I’ve always felt I could do more with the characters from
that play. I attempted a television pilot script at one point, but novels
ultimately wound up being the way forward. The execution needed to be very
different, though. The stark contrast between cartoonish superheroes and their
more realistic, down-to-earth, flawed secret identities worked well on the
stage—it was indeed very theatrical. But in prose, I needed to fill in the
space between those extremes to make it work.

What can we expect from you in the future?

I’m currently working on the sequel to The Flying Woman.
Admittedly, I’m a bit behind. I got pretty far along with what I thought
was the second book, then realized I was actually writing the third (or maybe
even the fourth). So I had to start over, but now I’m making good progress on
something that should work very well as book two.

On the bright side, I’ll have a great head start when I do
eventually get to that later book.

Can you tell us a little bit about the characters in The
Flying Woman?

The main character, Miranda Thomas, is a 22-year-old aspiring
actress. Acting is all she’s ever wanted to do. It’s the main thing she’s
studied and trained for, and nothing less than phenomenal success will suffice,
even as she realizes what a longshot that is.

But then, after an encounter with a dying super-woman, she
develops super-powers, and she has to navigate new possibilities—and, more
importantly, new responsibilities that she never expected.

With Miranda, I tried to make the most human superhero
possible, someone who is generally a good person and has a solid moral compass,
but someone who also has plenty of doubts about her ability to live up to these
new expectations of her. How do you become a perfect superhero when you know
you’re human?

What did you enjoy most about writing this book?

Is there anything about writing superheroes that’s not
enjoyable?

Who designed your book covers?

Justin Burks of Birdhouse Branding, and he did a fantastic
job. I’ve gotten quite a few compliments about the cover at book festivals, but
I can take credit only for approving it.

Did you learn anything during the writing of your recent
book?

This is my first full novel I’ve published (I had previously
focused on novellas), so this was quite an educational experience. I rewrote
this book nearly from scratch three and a half times before landing on
something that worked.

The first version was basically a comic book series in prose,
so that wasn’t the right approach for a novel. The second was more like a movie
in prose, which was closer to the mark but still not quite right. Finally,
working with my editor, Matthew Limpede, I managed to develop a novel that was
actually a novel. And then people read it and said, “I enjoyed it! It’s like a
comic book in prose!”

Still, though, those earlier versions would have been
entertaining but forgettable. There are reasons why superhero stories work
great in comics, movies, and television, but I needed to figure out how they
could work in prose. I had to reintroduce the genre, to some degree, sort of
like how the first Iron Man movie reintroduced the genre to set the stage for
the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

In a sense, I had to explore the spaces between the comic
book panels, in addition to the panels themselves. It was a lot of extra work,
but the final product is vastly improved because of it, if I do say so myself.

If your book was made into a film, who would you like to
play the lead?

I would want to follow the tradition of Superman: The
Movie and cast a relatively unknown actress. No doubt there’s some talented
actress no one has ever heard of who would be the perfect Miranda.

How did you come up with name of this book?

I was originally calling it Terrific, which wound up
being the series name. I love that one definition of the word is “wonderful,”
and another is “terrifying,” which captures the extraordinary responsibility of
a superhero quite well—any extraordinary responsibility, for that matter. But
it does work better for the series as a whole rather than just the first book.

The term “the flying woman” arose organically in the
manuscript as a general reference to Miranda as she’s just starting out as a
superhero. I knew I didn’t want to use her actual superhero name, Ultra Woman,
as the title, but my editor suggested The Flying Woman, and I agreed
that it sounded like the right approach.

What did you edit out of this book?

I had a really boring, drawn-out scene of Miranda planning
and assembling her original superhero costume, but it brought the momentum to a
halt. So, I compressed that part to the minimum and wove it in with other plot
elements.

How long have you been writing?

When I was nine, I started writing and drawing my own comic
books with my own superheroes. I eventually gave up on drawing—didn’t have the
patience for it—but I never figured out how to stop writing, which I somehow do
have the patience for. I guess I just have selective patience.

Do you prefer to write in silence or with noise? Why?

Music is essential to writing. I usually listen to
instrumental movie and TV soundtracks as a sort of creative lubricant. I’ve put
all my soundtracks into a single playlist in my iTunes player, and I just let
it play at random while I work. This way, I’m not immersed in the atmosphere of
any single movie or television series, but I’m listening to a mix of styles,
tones, and genres from different composers, which I personally find more
effective.

Pen or type writer or computer?

Computer primarily, but I will sometimes brainstorm with pen
and paper. I am just barely old enough to have learned to type on a typewriter,
but I don’t see any benefit to using one at this point. I’d be too
self-conscious about wasting ink and paper, and whiteout is not the most
efficient means of correcting typos.

Advice they would give new authors?

Exercise is essential. It’s essential for everyone, of
course, but writing is one of those occupations where it can be a little too
easy to neglect physical activity. Remember, exercise boosts not only the body
but also the mind. Exercising has a very high chance of improving your writing.

Everyone’s at a different level of physical fitness, but
virtually everyone can do something that will benefit them—and they can do it
today. If you’ve been sedentary for a while, go for a walk. If you routinely
run five miles a day, try running 5.1 miles. If you’ve been at your desk for a
couple of hours, get up and do some jumping jacks, or drop to the floor and do
crunches and push-ups.

It’s easy to find excuses not to exercise, but it’s also not
that hard to find ways to sneak some physical activity into your day. Writing
is not an excuse to avoid exercise. Rather, exercise is essential to writing at
your best level.

What are they currently reading?

I’m a bit behind, but I’m currently reading the first Games
of Thrones book. I started it several years ago and read a little over a
hundred pages, but it wasn’t grabbing me. So, I left the bookmark in, put it
back on my shelf, and moved on to other books.

On a whim, I decided to give it another chance. I just picked
up where I left off, and now I find myself appreciating how well done it is. I
doubt I’ll wind up being a hardcore GoT fan, but I’m beginning to see
what so many others have seen in it all this time.

This is why I don’t like to bash books that aren’t working
for me. In some cases, it might actually be just a bad book, but it could also
be that it simply didn’t work for me at that point in time. I could have been
in the wrong mood or the wrong frame of mind, or perhaps its flaws just bugged
me more than others. No book is perfect. No book is beyond criticism. At the
same time, a book that’s deeply flawed may still resonate with some people.

We’re not smarter just because we hate what everyone else
loves or love what everyone else hates. There are certainly well-established
principles of storytelling that are worth paying attention to. Ultimately,
though, reading is a subjective experience.

I started reading Games of Thrones and didn’t like it.
I resumed reading Game of Thrones and am enjoying it. Which me is
correct?